Grandfather
by Kaak
Summary: Complete. A poem about a girl who goes to visit her grandfather, and brings her copy of the book. This is based on the original books, not the miniseries/tv show.


Notes:  
My website, for more of my fic, can be found here.   
This fic is based on the books. It has nothing to do with the miniseries.   
I recommend reading the books, because they are fabulous in every way. 

**Grandfather**

_For Mathaira,  
who is always such an inspiration  
And for my grandparents  
across the seas  
who don't know who I am_

********"Grandfather!"  
she found him walking  
up past the garden  
of the shared space  
at the residential home  
for the old. 

"Look at this." 

She held in her arms  
a book  
its pictures vibrant  
its pages crisp. 

He looked at her,  
a smile on his face.  
"I wondered if  
you would read it,"  
he said.   
"Your brother didn't." 

"That's cos he's a klutz,"  
she shrugged  
as if it did not matter  
and it didn't. 

They walked together  
past the garden  
into the forest. 

"Grandfather,"  
she ran ahead  
to a bench  
and patted the wood  
beside her. 

He sat with a smile  
on his wise, old face.  
"What is it?"  
he asked. 

"Grandfather,"  
she seemed to be sad,  
her voice almost cracking.  
"Look!"  
and she held out the book  
its pages flipping open  
and there stood an old man  
on steps of stone  
above the waterfalls. 

"That's you, grandfather!"  
she said. 

He chuckled.  
"No, my dear." 

If he expected her face  
to fall  
he was mistaken.   
She just smiled  
her eyes alive  
and dancing. 

"Grandfather!  
Don't lie."  
Her tone was that of  
rebuke  
a thousand years older  
than her young body  
would suggest.  
And he wouldn't  
have believed her  
but her eyes were   
a thousand years older  
as well. 

He looked at her   
a smile on his lips  
And he looked over  
the picture  
the man  
the hair! Oh,  
the hair! 

"My dear," he said to her.  
"What do you see here?" 

"I see you,"  
she said,  
her voice the voice  
of youth.   
Speaking only truth. 

"And when you look out there?"  
he raised his arm  
and pointed. 

She looked where he looked  
And he wanted to see  
what she saw.  
Because her face lit up  
and her eyes glistened with tears. 

"Mommy says they aren't real,"  
she breathed.   
"But I knew  
you would see." 

"I don't, child,"   
he confessed, his voice  
and his heart  
breaking in two.   
"I don't see  
what you see." 

"No, grandfather,"  
her tone was bossy, then.  
Bossy because  
she reached over  
and put her hands   
on each side of his head. 

"You have to stop  
looking at the garden!  
Look at the grass  
over there." 

Her little hands guided his eyes  
and he blinked,  
disbelieving. 

"I see them,"  
he told her.  
His eyes opening wide.  
A smile on his tired old face. 

"I'm sorry,  
grandfather,"   
she told him, then.   
Her voice broke.  
Tears fell. 

"Oh, my dear,"  
he reached to her,  
wrapping his arms  
around her heavy jacket,  
the breeze picking up  
around them. 

"There's no harm in  
seeing." 

"Mommy says-"  
her voice broke.   
Tears were falling,  
her cheeks glistening. 

"Mommy is wrong,"  
he sighed. 

"Grandfather?"  
she didn't understand. 

They watched   
triceratops grazing  
and skybax gliding. 

They heard the whuff  
and both of them ducked  
as the brachiosaurus  
rained leaves down   
upon them. 

"Annie!"   
came the call from the road.  
Her mother  
was businesslike  
and her voice  
not laughing. 

"Thank you,  
grandfather,"  
she whispered,  
sighing as she rose  
to leave. 

"Anytime, my dear,"  
he smiled at her,  
holding out the book.  
"Just promise me-"  
she turned back   
her face quizzical. 

"Yes, grandfather?" 

"Promise me, that  
you will read that book.  
But that you will also   
write your own books." 

"Yes, grandfather!"  
she laughed  
and he saw the look   
on her mother's face  
from the trail.  
Disapproving. 

"And never lie,"  
he added swiftly.  
"Never, ever lie." 

"Yes, grandfather,"  
she whispered.  
And they embraced.  
Standing  
in their own minds  
on the stone steps  
above the waterfalls. 

Oh,  
he laughed to himself  
as he watched her run  
towards her mother.  
The hair! What hair!  
He remembered the hair.  
He remembered young Will,  
and the equally young Sylvia,  
with fondness. 

He remembered nights  
curled on the sofa  
with the woman  
whose eyes were now  
frosty,  
whose mouth was now  
thin. 

He remembered the look  
on her face when Arthur  
journeyed into the depths  
with the dastardly  
Lee Crabb, and when  
Melanie spoke of her friends,  
the plants. 

So he smiled with the memories,  
and then ducked,  
because   
the brachiosaurus was whuffing  
against the green leaves  
of the old maple tree. 


End file.
